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Irian’s efforts had their desired effect. He was tugging to clear the socket of the enormous eye, easily as big as he was if he were curled into a ball. His aether-fueled strength was implacable, and the deflated eye finally yielded to his efforts, falling to the ground and freeing the weeping socket. The battle-lust still raging Irian crawled into his opponent’s face. If he couldn’t break its armor then by Malen Ruadh he’d tear its brain out through its eyes.

The Prince saw the opportunity Irian had created (he’s worse than we thought) and attacked the other side of the face. Irian was currently hanging out of the face, his legs visible outside the eye socket, a torrent of blood falling around him. He was apparently punching, for occasionally a hand would be seen outside the hole. The prince knew opportunity when he saw it.

The next time the hand reached out, the Prince thrust his blade into his hands. Irian didn’t know how it got there, but he knew what it was for. He half-climbed out of the socket, and thrust the blade into the hole the optic nerve had once occupied. He twisted the blade back and forth, driving deeper as he did so. Chunks of white, spongy matter suffused with tiny wires spilled out of the hole. He was almost to the haft of the scythe, and it still wasn’t dead. He left the blade in the hole he had made and punched the back of the socket. Bone shattered on both sides as the fragile orbit gave way beneath the breaking bones in Irian’s fist. He grabbed the edge of the socket and ripped it away. As he did, he grabbed the haft of the scythe and plunged it in as far as he could push it. There was an acrid burning smell, and sparks erupted from the hole. The eyes of the creature unfocused, and it began to fall. Irian was trapped under it.